


Disconnect

by CorsetJinx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Disagreements, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7568200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> Companion to "A Rare Treat".

“It is unlike you to be so taciturn.” Hanzo rumbles softly into the stuffy air of the room. His eyes are no longer focused on the shaft of the arrow in his hand but on the taller man situated in a stiff cross-legged position little more than a few feet away.

Had McCree been closer, the tanned leather of his chaps might have brushed the edge of his own _hakama_. On a good day, it might have.

It does not feel like a good day.

The cowboy says nothing, serape wound about his shoulders as though McCree wished to put a wall between the two of them. As though he had not already, with half a day’s worth of silence and brief glances from beneath the brim of his hat. This is the most Hanzo has tried to breach the silence since…

He pushes the thought aside as one might turn over a stone - familiar enough with its grooves to not be hindered by its weight.

Further silence only serves to strain at the edges of Hanzo’s patience. Usually it would not be so - he has been more patient in the past with matters more trying than most might imagine, but the rift between them feels as though it may only widen further if he does not make some move.

Setting aside the arrow he rests now empty hands on his knees, feeling where cloth gives way to metal and the juxtaposition of temperatures. Lifting his gaze Hanzo allows himself a moment to look out over the expanse of shoreline the Watchpoint straddles. The light is more orange than he had grown used to, increased humidity in the air allowing the colors of the sunset to form something that might be close to a mirage if he did not focus his gaze.

“If this is about the history of my past, I am aware that it is an unsavory thing. Judge me, if you must.”

He is something of a coward, he knows, for not looking directly at McCree when he says it. Yet when he turns his head to finally meet the cowboy’s eye there is no change in the slant of the hat covering most of McCree’s face.

So he is surprised when an answer emerges from beneath the brim of leather.

“That’s got nothing to do with it.” McCree’s voice is low and smoky, the harshness of his statement running counter to it.

Hanzo waits for something more, anything at all, but it doesn’t come. For one capable of retelling stories at length for long periods at a time, the depth of his silence could be jarring.

McCree pushes his hat back at last, fixing him with a cool stare.

He meets it, turning his mouth down somewhat at the corners.


End file.
